


Immortality

by onebillionstars



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebillionstars/pseuds/onebillionstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia's reflections on his life, his possible death, and the family that he loves. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immortality

**_Alright, so that new update just came out, right? And I’m freaking out about it too. He just can’t die…_ **

**_So, I decided to torture myself (and you guys too) and write something sad-ish._ **

**_Prussia and Hetalia are owned by Himaruya of course._ **

****

* * *

 

 When I was still a very young representation of the Teutonic Knights, not even a country yet, I remember feeling quite lonely. 

   There weren’t a lot of other countries around to take care of me or even to talk to. I was simply by myself. There were the countries forming to my west and then the Arabian countries and the Greeks and Italians to my south. The terrifying entity of Russia was to my northwest. Even if they had been friendly, they wouldn’t want to associate with a ‘cursed albino’, with left-handedness to boot, right? The only country who was ever really nice to me at that time was Hungary. She was the only one.

    As I grew older and gained power as the newly forming idea of the state of Prussia, I interacted more with the other countries, but not necessarily in the best way. There was a lot of war in my life. It seemed as soon as one battle ended, another one began. I became so used to the weight of my armor that I barely noticed the heavy metal hanging on my body after a certain point.

   I still have a lot of scars from those times. I was young. I was inexperienced. I was foolish. I fought brazenly and sloppily, leaving myself open and vulnerable. I was run through with a sword so many times that I lost count.

   All of that war was tiring. I hated it, to be honest. I acted as though I loved the bloodshed that came with the territorial gain, but it was just that; an act. It wasn’t that I was afraid of the death and destruction. Quite the opposite, in fact. Death has never scared me. I think it was the fact that those foolish humans threw away their lives, their potential, to fight for something that was so abstract to them. It bothered me. I could be burned, decapitated, drowned, shot, it wouldn’t matter because I was designed to be so damned resistant. But humans were not. Their fragile heartbeats could be silenced in a fraction of a second. So that was always my question, my reason for my of hate of warfare; why throw away something so valuable, so delicate?

   Being around all of that for so long made me change, I think. My mind grew dark recesses that I shrunk into quite often. I heard voices and I saw my own demons manifest. I understand now that they never existed, but they haunted me then. My scars ached and my memories of carnage would suddenly overtake me without a moment’s notice.

   I think that it was Holy Rome who saved me. That small boy, who grew too fast and had too much power was probably the reason I didn’t collapse into myself. He was scared like I was. He had killed almost as many as I had. He had seen what I had. But he couldn’t handle it as well as I did. The first time I truly saw him, I was struck with a sudden, almost paternal instinct that I couldn’t shake. Seeing that poor boy quivering in his boots stirred some sort of emotion in my mind. He reminded me so much of myself that I could hardly stand it.

   For a long while, even though parts of me were subordinate to him at times, I watched over him. I helped him in war, I helped him with his own demons. He was something that distracted me from myself. However, as much as I wanted to be drawn away from my mind, I had to go back at some point. Eventually, I grew to become something that was threatening to overcome Holy Rome. The first time we fought, it nearly destroyed me. Not territorially or militarily, but mentally; I was fighting the boy who I had considered my family.

   I was glad that I wasn’t the one who dealt the killing blow to Holy Rome. I wouldn’t have been able to, even if I was called upon to do so. When France finally carried out his order, head turned away and sword slashed blindly, I could barely carry on. It broke me. I remember sitting at the foot of his grave, isolated deep in a peaceful area of woods that he loved, feeling empty and shattered.

   For a very long time, life passed by in a strange blur. My emotions were gone, I was simply a monotone individual. On the battlefield, I shot and slashed mechanically, no longer caring about the lives of humans and how they were throwing everything away. About how I was the one taking their lives. For a short while, my officials were worried, but after quickly discovered I could not be roused from this state, they no longer cared. They weren’t like Old Fritz; I wasn’t a person to them. As long as I was their dog, as long as I focused on expanding my power, my state did not matter.

   I was a shadow of my former self. I no longer even had an act to put up. This time, it was Ludwig that brought me back. He was formed from the scraps of Holy Rome and the various states that took over his land. He was a serious, quiet boy. And he looked so much like Holy Rome it hurt. The first time I saw him, my breath caught in my throat. It was as though Holy Rome had come back to me like he sometimes did in the dreams. But he was a material thing. He here to stay.

   He made my mind begin to resume its shape again. I even fought Austria tooth-and-nail for him. After that, Germany began to live with me and, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, I could almost call myself happy. I cared for him even more than I cared for Holy Rome. I played flute for him a lot; when he woke up, when he was tired, when he was trying to study. Even when he was busy, he always stopped and listened to me, eyes wide and bright. It was such a wonder to see.

   Now, my little brother has grown up quite a bit. He’s even taller than me, can you believe it? He’s become a lot stronger too. But in that process, he’s faced a lot of demons too. He had some despicable rulers, he was forced down the wrong paths, he killed a lot of people. In that respect, he reminded me a lot of myself. But I wanted him to turn out better than myself, and he did. He did, thank god.

   He’s also become pretty attached to me as well, it seems. He calls me ‘big brother’ and everything. Pretty great, huh? Not even Holy Rome did that. He says that he admires me too. He told me one time that even though I’m not the great Kingdom that I used to be, that I’m still great in his eyes. He studies my military tactics a lot and asks me so many questions. In that regard, he still seems like a child, always asking.

   I wonder how he would feel if I were gone? Even though he made me his Eastern half in order to keep me alive, I don’t think that I’ll be here much longer. I don't heal like I used to and I’ve been needing to sleep a lot more than usual. I try to cover that up as just passing out from too much alcohol, but I think he’s getting suspicious. I mean, I know that he would be perfectly fine on his own. Ludwig is strong, he has a calm mind and his independence is steadfast, but even though he finds me annoying a lot of the time, I think he would still miss me. I wish he wouldn’t though. I still remember the pain that came with Holy Rome’s death, and I wouldn’t want Lud to feel that way.

   He looks good in a suit, but I don’t want him wearing a funeral suit.

   But I think that it’s unavoidable now. At some point, I’ll die. I’ve acknowledged that. I’m no longer a real nation and I’m clinging to the scraps of my own memory. I realize that I’m not entirely immortal now, but I’m not entirely mortal either. I’m like the war that I always fight; not entirely one thing, but not entirely the other either. I am in the middle, in purgatory, at a crossroads, however you want to put it.

   But I’m not afraid of dying if that’s what it comes to. I’ve seen so much death and I’ve learned that it’s not quite the individual dying that scares people, it’s the strife they leave behind. If I go, I know that at least Lud would miss me. I don’t know about any others, but he certainly would. That’s what I’m scared of I suppose.

  But I can die. I’m not afraid of whatever unknown comes after this. My life has been nothing but carnage, heartache, destruction and anger anyway.

   It won’t be a loss if it’s extinguished, right?

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Please review!


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